


Blood Will Have Blood (Or Equivilant Phsycological Trauma)

by OldEmeraldEye



Category: Dollhouse
Genre: Bloodplay, F/F, Mental Screw, Scary Bennett, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 10:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldEmeraldEye/pseuds/OldEmeraldEye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All pain is thought. Therefore, thought is pain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Will Have Blood (Or Equivilant Phsycological Trauma)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Her Doll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/542529) by [dragonlover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonlover/pseuds/dragonlover). 



> Inspired by and not nearly as good as dragonlover's Her Doll.

“The human body can be drained of blood in eight point three seconds, given adequate vacuuming systems.”

Bennett always likes to start these sessions with a fact. It's educational. She likes facts.

Caroline's eyes open at the sound of her voice, then move to regard her with that almost blank gaze of hers. Maybe Bennett woke her. Maybe she didn't. It's irrelevant. As long as she's aware when Bennett is there, she can do what she wants when she isn't.  
As much as anyone can do anything when strapped securely to a trolley. She can wriggle. And think, but there's not much going on inside a Doll's head, not even one as special as Caroline. One of these days she'll get around to fixing that. Maybe.

“Of course, I wouldn't want that.”

There's no sound but the measured click of her heels as she circles Caroline, and rise and fall of Caroline's breathing in response. In and out, in and out, slow and methodical. The straps holding her down are all as secure as ever. That's good. She won't pretend Caroline isn't stronger than she is, but then again, what is strength but power? Bennett has power, Caroline doesn't. She's quite satisfied with the arrangement.

Caroline's starting to learn her place. No 'whys' today. It's rather disappointing. Strange, how Caroline isn't Caroline when she isn't fighting. Maybe tomorrow. There's always tomorrow. Asking too many whys leads to brain tazeing. Not that it isn't entertaining to watch, but she's got something different planned for today.

“Slower is better, after all.”

And now, there's the fear, the struggle. _Here_ is the Caroline she knows, fighting the inevitable. Always fighting.  
It's delightful.  
Caroline knows she won't be killed. Or she thinks she knows. She's almost sure, but this is the Dollhouse. This is _Bennett's_ Dollhouse.  
Bennett can kill her over and over and over again, and she would never know, not if Bennett didn't let her. That's what makes this so fun. She could have another ten of her bleeding out as she speaks, and there's nothing Caroline can do about it.  
So she's almost sure.  
Almost is such a wonderful word.

“Wouldn't want it to be over too soon, would we, Caroline? Wouldn't want to miss the wait.”  
Wouldn't want to miss the _wondering_.  
Her tone's become almost conversational. It's not helping Caroline's nerves at all. It's not meant to.  
“You go through all the big questions, you know. Why me, what did I do, when will it end ...I did too. There's no shame in it. You could say they're part of the experience.”

Slowly, slowly, Caroline's struggles slow, then stop altogether. She doesn't reply. That's okay. She will. She always does. It's part of the fun.  
She pleads with her eyes as Bennett settles the tray across her midsection. No words. She doesn't need those. It'd be all 'nos' and 'please,' and 'why are you doing this.' Bennett isn't interested in questions. Not answering them, not being asked. Not even her question. The time for why is not now.  
Now is the time for pain, for exploring the intricateness of the human response system.

If it matters, you mind, if you don't mind, it still hurts.

Bennett ignores her, turns to inputs a set of commands into the interface. Not the most efficient use of time, but effective nonetheless.

Caroline starts to shake as the needles are prepped. It's not an entirely unwarranted reaction. They're long needles. Thin too, thin enough that it's hard to tell exactly how long they are. They glint.  
Bennett has to tighten the straps to insert the tubes, she's thrashing so much. One to each elbow. It's slightly more difficult than anticipated. Caroline has always been difficult. The end of the tubes she drapes over the edge of the trolley, and ties off below Caroline's line of sight, taking a moment to watch the red ooze down. Not different from anyone else's. Of course not. Same basic mixture, same random variables.

She flips a switch to start the program, pulls up a chair, and collects a bowl of cashew nuts to snack on, Caroline's head twisting to follow her every movement with a birdlike, flighty motion.

Funny, how she's always seen Caroline as a cat.

 

They're seven minute in, seven minutes of increasingly ragged breathing and not the most impressive bowl of nuts she's eaten (perhaps pistachio? No, they might prove tricky), before Caroline's first whimper. It's soft. Bennett can barely hear it. But it's there.

It's good enough.

Bennett nibbles another nut before rising and standing by her head. Caroline glares.

She always glares. It's part of her, like the way her hair curls. Bennett continues to watch. Caroline breaks first, and twists her head, the only part of her she can move, as far away from Bennett as she can get. It's not far.

 

Another two minutes, and Caroline allows Bennett to roll her face back towards her. Perhaps allow isn't the right word, but she doesn't fight. Her head lolls when Bennett starts to stroke her hair. It's nice, comforting. Soft. She's always liked Caroline's hair. She should really get around to adding some purple one of these days. Lilac maybe.

Some time later – Bennett's mind is on better things than clocks, more important, more personal things – Caroline finally, finally gives in and speaks. By that point it's more of a rasp, low and painful, but it's the thought that counts.  
It's the capitulation.

“Please … Benny, please....”

She stops mid stroke, finger tangled. Pauses. She can feel the count of her heart beat; one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four one-two-three-four, can hear the hitch in Caroline's breathing as her thumb traces the curve of her cheekbone.

Keeps her eyes locked on Caroline's. Forces her face to remain blank. Because she remembers. Remembered her.  
Some small part of her. A small, insignificant, _weak_ part.

Watches the panic in her big, brown, doe eyes – animal eyes- grow as they slowly flutter closed.  
Like butterflies. Like pretty, paper butterflies.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Hello Caroline. It's a beautiful day. Do you know how long the human brain can last without sleep? No? That's okay, you're not a neuroscience major. Well, they tell you it's eleven days, but we both know I can make it last a lot longer than that, don't we?”


End file.
